I'm not the first to tell that this section is dead. Let us change that.
This might not be some classic poetry, just so you know. I was just talking with a friend of mine. I am drunk so if there are some misspellings you'll know why.
We are depressed, we do not see the light. We have lost our interests, but still we sing like wolves in the night.
Calling for how things used to be, calling for what's no longer here, for what we long for more than anything else.
It's a winsome shout of loneliness, pain and suffering.
A call for relief.
... and when you hear it you sing along, like a wolf in the night.
Crying at the moon.
Longing for relief.
The world is a filthy place, it's a filthy goddamn horror show.